Parallels of Destiny
by asterisms
Summary: They are one and yet they are separate. Their fates are as intertwined as their souls. Their lives run parallel, and their destinies remain unchanged.


**Title:** Parallels of Destiny

**Author: **bats-in-boots

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

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><p>It was a dark and stormy night, the kind of night when all the little children should be tucked away in their beds. And yet, there is one who walks alone. He wanders slowly through the alleys and through the tall, swaying grass. But no matter how far he walks he knows he can not escape his fate. So he simply walks, never running. At times he wishes he could escape and fly away to a distant space beyond the stars and then he remembers. He remembers many things, things that are, things that have been, and things that will be. Still his future never changes.<p>

He sees laughter in the man's eyes as he fades.

He sees red hair and green eyes.

He sees a dark serpent seared onto his flesh.

He sees an old man fall through the lightning struck sky.

He sees a beloved sister driven to insanity.

He sees his only love drifting away.

He sees a stranger's face where his own should be.

He sees many things.

The boy sat down near the wall and pulled the flowers out of the ground one by one. He had always liked lilies, just as he had always liked snakes. He couldn't bear to see the petals ripped to shreds, and yet he relished in the feel of the delicate material being torn beneath his fingertips. The boy dropped the remains of the flower and stood, he really would miss the flower. He didn't know why.

He shook the thought out of his mind and bent down to pick up a stone. He was near a frozen pool now, he could remember it clearly, the day he had nearly seen himself die. The boy's eyes narrowed, he had never been to the pool. Not yet, something sinister and sweet whispered as pain seared across his forehead and through his left arm, but you will know this place. A part of him knew he would die here, just as another would live, and another would watch, and another would wait.

He flipped the stone through his hands and watched the mysterious pattern catch the lowlight. It was whole but there was something missing. He could feel a part of himself in the dead stone and dropped it to the ground, wincing in pain and smiling in triumph as it cracked. He glanced around and blinked in surprise when he noticed a silvery sword lying at the bottom. He wanted it, he needed it, and he feared it, for it would be his salvation and his downfall.

The boy shook his head and sprinted through the trees until he skidded to a stop at the edge of the cliff. This was another place from his almost memories. He could feel the death in the air and shivered in excitement while another broke in sadness, remembering the beginning of his death. He climbed down to a cave and peered inside. Don't go inside, a part of him whispered, but he ignored it because this was his place. But it was also a place of trickery, despair, and fire, so he fled as he drew nearer. He wanted desperately to leave this place but he knew he had to stay. So he entered the darkness, it didn't bother him, he knew the darkness well.

He soon came upon an eerie green like that reflected whatever light seeped through the stones. He glanced down into the murky depths and smiled as he met the eyes of his dead. And they were his, his protectors and his killers. He had created them just as easily as he had destroyed them. With this thought the boy became confused again. He had no idea what was going on. He wished desperately to be anywhere else and opened his eyes soon after to find himself lying in a grave yard. He knew this place, but it was unfamiliar to him.

He was reborn here, but he didn't want him to be reborn. He wanted to leave just as he wanted to know. He had to know what was happening, what was going to happen. The boy hated this place, that much he could agree upon. It was his almost home, but it was also where he had first met his parents, although for him it wasn't the first. And he hated him for it. It wasn't fair that he had never known them, yet he was the one who had taken them away. He turned and ran again.

He was at a house now. Pain ripped through him and he let himself mourn for what almost was, what he had ruined for himself. He had loved them like his own children, she could have been his, he never got to know, and he had destroyed it all. The boy bit his lip in confusion as he stared at the house. There was nothing special about it, nothing special at all. It held no memories for him, only for himself.

The boy stood slowly from his kneeling position and walked down the sidewalk. He had been to this place before, he knew where to go. He pushed open the rusty gate and blinked back tears as he stared at the empty spot of land. They would be there, he knew, and he wouldn't regret it. He felt a terrible guilt sear through him despite his protests and knew that he would be able to use his guilt to protect him. He would protect himself, if not for him, then for his love of her, the one who would die by his own hand.

He turned from the empty land, silver stags and pleading screams still echoing in his mind even as he sneered at his own display of emotion. Emotions are for the weak, he assured himself, even as he knew that would be his downfall. Yes, he told himself as he continued to walk through the graves; he would fall by his hand even as he and himself died too. The boy stopped when he reached the grave of his sister that he never even knew about and felt both guilt and anger. He had never been told, he had never shared his story. His family had always been a secret, a source of shame, and a source of pride. He hated his father, such an arrogant fool, he hadn't even had his wand as he killed him, but he would be proud. Of this the boy was sure.

He smiled to himself and felt the wind pick him up. He was flying without a broom, something he'd thought impossible until he'd seem him in the air behind him as he fought desperately to get away. He had been taught the very same skill and used it, would use it, to escape on the night of his death. He was going home.

The boy stared up at the majestic castle and smiled in relief as he felt the welcoming waves of magic caressing his skin. It had been his first home, his safe haven, the only place he had been truly appreciated. And although he would die there, killed by himself each time, he couldn't help but love the castle. Love, he scoffed, such a weak emotion. Probably the only emotion he had ever wanted, only for it to be denied, just like everything else he had ever needed. Then the boy felt something strange happening. The world around him was beginning to fade and he could feel the different parts of himself being ripped apart. He fought desperately against the pull; he didn't want to lose this belonging. They didn't want to be alone again. But soon the boy was no more.

All that remained were four bitter, crying souls, left with no choice but one. So they walked down their paths with whatever pride they had left, there was little point in running.

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><p><strong>AN: **Well, that was actually really fun to write. I've had multiple little plot-bunnies eating my brain ever since the Deathly Hallows pt2 premier, not that that's a bad thing of course. I think I slept or was at least half asleep for 17 hours the next day/night, it was insane.


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